HER BLUR DRESS NIGHT 1975

A WOMAN AND HER PARTNER AFTER A PARTY IN 1975

When she wears
the blue dress
I know she
has a mood on.

She sits
crossed legged,
foot rising up
and down,
hands on her knees,
gazing at me
with her bright eyes,
like burning coals.

What's wrong,
Netanya,
what have I done
this time?

Her mind cannot find
the right words,
it fumbles like a juggler
with Parkinson's.

Teddy,
she mouths,
what was that b***h doing
being near you
at the party?

I reach back
through my memory
of the evening,
finger through faces
and deeds done and undone,
can't find the face to fit
or deed or fun.

No idea what you mean,
I say,
swaying,
holding bits
of conversation in hand,
pushing old words
into the long grass,
touches touched
or deed done,
but forgotten.

Netanya sways and says,
that plump b***h,
the one
in the green dress
with earrings like saucers,
that one(she hiccups),
who gave you
the come-along,  
the plump biddy
who anyone
with a decent mind
wouldn't touch
with a barge pole.

I lie on the bed dressed,
looking up
at the ceiling,
an odd
I'm going puke
kind of feeling.

Netanya lies
on the bed,
too,
closing her eyes,
kicks off her shoes,
piss her,
she mutters,
bugger the booze.